


in the morning it'll be ok

by trickstered



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickstered/pseuds/trickstered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is this; you're waiting on something better to come along, possibly with a bigger pay check and maybe a little more excitement than the occasional call from the very attractive architect currently working with the company.</p><p>There's a saying about being careful what you wish for, but you think anything is better than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the morning it'll be ok

**Author's Note:**

> A little warning for stockholm syndrome!

Your life goes a little something like this: your name is Arthur and you earn fifty grand a year working for Maurice Fischer and his company, doing a job you long ago started hating. You've been hinting that you need a pay rise for months because you are the best at your job and you are sick of everyone else being so damn mediocre and getting paid more than you. You'd quit, but you've gotten used to the nice little apartment you rent and maybe that's a shallow reason for staying, but you don't have many other luxuries in life.

The truth is this; you're waiting on something better to come along, possibly with a bigger pay check and maybe a little more excitement than the occasional call from the very attractive architect currently working with the company.

There's a saying about being careful what you wish for, but you think anything is better than this.

You've been working for Fischer for five years. It's been your second job since you graduated University overseas in Europe. Your first job was so terrible that you only ever think about it if other people bring it up.

University in Europe was one of the best decisions you made in your teenage youth. It's where you met your now-best-friend Dom and his now-passed-on wife, Mal. That was almost a decade ago now, but you always like to remember being twenty and sitting in cafes in Paris with Dom, listening to him go on enthusiastically about new designs he's come up with. Most of your fondest memories are those moments in Paris.

In any case, you've been working for Fischer for five years now and you've been hinting for a promotion for two of them; when it became apparent that wasn't going to happen any time soon, you opted for the pay rise option. It angers you that Maurice Fischer would rather recruit new employees than give you that extra ten grand you really want so that you can have a nice car to go with your very nice apartment. Mal once called you shallow when it came to money, but you've been working hard for years to be the man with the nice car and big house because you never had those things back when you were still in high school.

Mr. Eames is a new recruit who's been working with the company for four weeks now. He's British and apparently comes from a rival company, spilling secrets and armed with so many impressive references that you spat your coffee all over your desk when you heard about him. He's a charming man, according to just about everyone else in the department, but you on the other hand, you want to punch him in the face.

It may be because he's earning much more than you, but it also may be because he's always making teasing little critiques about your work. All in all, you really don't like him.

"Arthur," Mr. Eames says to you one afternoon. He's leaning against the edge of your desk and flicking through your reports like it's his business. "Could I ask a favour of you?"

You look at him with the best poker face you can muster. "What is it, Mr. Eames?"

He smiles at you with that toothy grin of his and shrugs. "Would you mind terribly if I asked you to come to lunch with me?"

You think maybe you've heard him wrong. You answer "no" anyway.

He doesn't look too terribly disappointed, but you don't like the look on his face at all.

The lunch offer was apparently the start of what you consider annoying social harassment from Eames. After that, he asks you to lunch again, he brings you coffee in the morning and on at least two occasions he's tried to engage in what you suspect is small talk. You immediately think he's up to something.

In all comes to a climax at the end of the second week when you're hailing down a taxi and he places a hand on your shoulder and says: "Do you mind if we share, Arthur?"

You tell him: "Of course I do, now back off."

To which he replies with: "Oh, but I really must insist," and he has a gun pressed against your back and you grit your teeth rather than act surprised because of pride. He pushes you inside the cab and when he gets in himself, he buckles up and casually presses the gun against your head. "All right Yusuf, let's go shall we?"

Yusuf, you think fleetingly and then, this was planned.

"Shouldn't we bag him?" Yusuf says from the front seat, glancing back at them.

"Oh, I think he'll be well behaved." Eames chuckles, casting you a sideways glance, smirking. "You will, won't you Arthur?"

"You're a bastard," you say, glaring.

Being kidnapped isn't how you imagined it would be; Eames doesn't rush you or scream at you to move. He's surprisingly calm and collected and casually moves you from Yusuf's taxi to inside a warehouse, where he then watches as his men double handcuff your arms behind your back and sit you down, and then double cuff your legs to your chair. There's no adrenaline rush, no panic and maybe that's why you haven't struggled.

"What's this all about?" you ask finally, as soon as your legs are secure. The whole position is extremely uncomfortable, but you doubt Eames cares all that much.

Eames glances at you and shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's nothing personal, Arthur. You're just a necessary piece to a bigger puzzle. I hope you don't mind too much, but we'll be holding you hostage for a while."

You narrow your eyes and frown because none of this makes sense at all. "What? Are expecting someone to pay a ransom?"

Eames grins; it's a deadly sort of grin that makes his eyes shine with a dangerous glint. "Oh, absolutely not. That's exactly why it had to be you."

That's all he says to you before he walks away, phone pressed to his ear.

You think you've been in this place for two days, but you can't be sure. You haven't seen a lot of Eames, but you've seen a lot of Yusuf who has become your go-to guy every time you need the toilet or something to eat. You wonder briefly if Eames is trying to drive you to insanity by keeping you alone and on lockdown.

You say this to Yusuf, who shrugs at you. "Probably," he admits.

More than anything, you're just bored and clueless and both of these have resulted in you becoming increasingly frustrated because Yusuf won't give any answers other than "Eames will fill you in more when he gets back."

And that would be fine, if your faith Eames was anything higher than nothing.

On the third day, you wake up to Eames looking at you the most annoying smile you've ever had the misfortune of seeing on his face. He's laughing at you on the inside, you can tell. "Good morning," he says cheerfully. "Terribly sorry I've been absent, had to pick up my boss from the airport."

"Your boss?" you croak. You wonder why you hadn't suspected that Eames had been working for someone else.

"That would be me," a new voice says from behind you. The accent is thick, and you try and turn your head to see the man who orchestrated your kidnapping. He saves you the hassle when he walks around you to stand behind Eames. It's a recognisable face; one you've seen on your desk many times. Saito smiles at you and sits himself down. "I apologise for this discomfort Arthur. I hope you can forgive me, but this is a necessary situation."

"I keep hearing that line," you say irritably. "What the hell is going on?"

Saito nods to Eames, who backs out of the room and has the absolute gall to wink at Arthur before he leaves. "You are currently being ransomed to Mr. Fischer's company at a very large price."

Arthur narrows his eyes. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Saito, but they won't pay up. This is a waste of time."

"Ah, but I'm counting on them not paying," Saito says, smiling patiently. "Let me explain: Maurice Fischer is the last obstacle in my way to becoming a leading energy super power, you understand? At present, things at their end are shaky. Increasing rates of men and women have been leaving the company due to stress. Their reputation is fragile right now.

"This is where you come in; you are one of the smaller men in the company, perhaps the man in your department who has been there the longest. You have been seeking a promotion for two years now and been rejected. You, for all extents and purposes, are just a normal man making a living."

"I don't understand how I can possibly be useful," you mutter, mostly to yourself. Your brain is overtaxing itself, trying to figure it out.

"Your abduction hit the news this morning," Saito says, and the smug tone in his voice does not go un-noticed. "Maurice Fischer has publically declared that he will not co-operate with your kidnappers, but has ensured to work with the police. You, better than anyone, should know that in reality he is hoping to get to you too late. You will become an unfortunate accident."

You panic for a moment and realise for the first time that you might not actually survive this ordeal.  
"Do not worry, I will not kill you." Saito chuckles. "Instead, I am going to offer to pay your ransom and in extension, offer you a job with my company including that promotion you've been so desperately seeking."

The panic abruptly fades to confusion. "But-" you begin, and you know your face is betraying how you feel if Saito's amused face is anything to go by, "why?"

"Think of the humiliation Maurice Fischer will feel," he says simply. "His public image will take a crucial hit; one of his employees having to be saved by his biggest rival. The backlash from the media and the drop in public opinion, it won't be long until investors pull out. Especially when some unwanted figures begin to leak out about his less-than-legal investments."

"In short, you're cannon fodder," Eames says as he walks back into the room. He walks up behind Saito, a tea cup in hand and a grin on his face.

"Perhaps not so crudely." Saito chuckles, accepting the teacup. "But yes, that is correct."

You sag in your chair. "Why me though?"

Saito raises an eyebrow. "You have your friend, Mr. Cobb to thank for that. It was quite lucky that he mentioned his best friend who worked for Maurice Fischer, actually- Ah, perhaps when this all over, you would mind not mentioning this to him. He's doing a wonderful job with designing my new home, you see."

"Don't look so depressed," Eames says, patting you on the shoulder. "After all of this, you've got yourself a nice new job."

You find the strength to glare at him. "What makes you think I'll accept it? How do you know I won't go straight to the police and expose you?"

You regret saying it instantly; Saito smiles calmly and Eames presses his gun against your temple, equally as calm. "Because then, darling," he drawls in that ridiculous English accent of his, "I'll have to shoot you like a proper kidnapper. That'd be a shame, because I do rather like you."

"If you liked me, Mr. Eames," you hiss out, your fists clenching behind your back, "you would have picked some other idiot to use."

"Oh but Arthur," he drawls, the gun pressing against your temple harder, "then I wouldn't have the pleasure of looking at your face all day long."

"Go fuck yourself," you bite out.

"Gentlemen," Saito says quietly as he gets to his feet. He nods once, smirking at you both and takes his leave, leaving you alone with Eames and his gun still pressed against your head.

"I really don't want to shoot you," Eames murmurs, seriously, finally removing the gun. He kneels in front of you, all traces of mirth gone from his face. "So please don't give me a reason to."

You look him dead in the eyes and press your lips together firmly. There's a whole novel of things you want to say to him, most of them along the lines of the many ways you'd like to kick him in the balls. Instead, you say: "I need to pee," and he smirks at you again.

Having Eames watch you do your business is an experience you never want to go through again. He's not like Yusuf, who politely adverted his eyes. Eames stares straight at your back, and you know he's laughing at you with his eyes. It's a decidedly awkward event, because you haven't been since the night before and really this whole experience is completely embarrassing.

"You know," Eames says conversationally, "It's almost a pity it had to be you."

"Okay," you mutter, staring at the wall.

"Maybe if you hadn't been working for Fischer, you and I could be in a nice hotel room having a perfectly wonderful one night stand and putting these handcuffs to better use."

You choke on your air and snap your head around to stare at him in horror. "Excuse me?"

He shrugs, still smirking. "It's just a thought."

It would have nice, had it just been a thought. In the days after, Eames becomes the only person you see. He is your only contact with humanity and if you had thought he was trying to drive you insane before, you are sure of it now. He starts to act differently in subtle little changes that, had it been anyone else, you probably wouldn't have noticed.

He sits with you longer and talks more frequently about things happening on the news, about the situation with Fischer's company. He starts to take better care in your well being; or at least you think so. The food's much better and he lets you shower every night, at first with him there and then unsupervised.

His shoulder pats become little touches that linger for longer than necessary. His playful little quips that you're used to become more daring, more suggestive when you bite back at him.

You're sure that days have dragged into weeks by now and you wonder how it could possibly be taking so long for Saito to make his move. You're going crazy stuck in this empty place with Eames; you have to be, because somewhere along the line he started to become bearable and now you think you might actually miss him when he wanders away from you and leaves you alone.

You've officially lost track of what day it is by the time Eames moves on from touches and flirting to the next level. You've officially lost your mind, you think, because you've been waiting for it to happen.  
It happens like this: Eames is feeding you soup and the tinniest little drop spills and glides down your chin. He watches it with narrowed eyes and your breath hitches as his thumb drags itself upwards from your chin towards your lips and spears it against them. You look him straight in the eye as your tongue swipes over your lips and he unconsciously does the same to his own. You don't like to dwell on what this is, what this means or what this might start.

It's small, little moments like these that lead up to bigger things. Like: he's re-cuffing you to the chair and he'll caress your wrist so gently that you have to close your eyes and force yourself to breathe. Or you complain that you're back hurts and he'll press his hands against you and rub the knots away as best he can through your clothes. Then eventually you're in the bath and you deliberately make fuss out of nothing so that he'll sit with you. He watches you bathe and you take longer than usual just so that you can keep sneaking glances at the way he watches you.

The first time he kisses you is the day Saito calls to say he's officially offered to pay your ransom. "Not long to go, Arthur," he says, smiling a toothy half smile. You say nothing and he raises an eyebrow and moves in closer to you. "Chin up, you'll be out of here soon enough. At least crack a smile."

You nod silently and your expression is deliberately vacant. He places a hand on the side of your face and looks you in the eye. "One might think you don't want to leave, Arthur," he says, sounding vaguely amused. You narrow your eyes and try to look angry, but can't because he's right, you realise. You know it's written all over your face when something like victory shines in his eyes and he leans in closer and presses his lips against yours. "Isn't that interesting?" he asks against them. You don't say anything, but you do kiss him back.

He kisses you again before he leaves and then again when he appears in the morning. You don't turn your head once.

One day you're in the shower, and he's sitting on the toilet seat watching you intently. His gun is resting in the sink and you snort a little at what this scene must look like. You're rinsing the shampoo out of your hair when you chance a look at him. You like the way Eames looks at you, you decide in that moment. When all the soap is gone, you step out of the shower and don't bother to turn it off.

He watches you in amusement as you walk the short distance towards him. He doesn't say a word as you straddle him and grip his hair. You kiss him desperately, not caring about how you're naked or how you're soaking him, just that you need to kiss him and you think he might have needed to kiss you too. You don't even worry anymore about what this means or what this is; all you know is that Eames is here right now kissing you and you need it.

The whole time you're there, you and he never move beyond desperate clashes of tongue or gentle presses of lips. You've been craving more lately; you've been wanting feel his mouth on your neck, or your thigh and sometimes your head spins when he leaves you alone you sit and ache because you can't even touch yourself.  
This is torture, you think briefly. He has his hooks in you deep and you don't even care.

Your heart starts beating rapidly when Eames shows up one morning not alone, but with both Yusuf and Saito. It plummets into your stomach when Eames undoes your cuffs, leans down to undo your feet and you feel him slip something into your pocket. You make a point to ignore it and control the way your hands are shaking as you rub your wrists.

"It is time," Saito says, smiling, "for you to return to the real world. News hit last night about how you have returned to my company's private care. Yusuf will take you to a hotel and let you get cleaned up. There's a change of clothes waiting for you there."

"I-" you begin, swallowing. "I can go home."

"Yes," Saito says, turning to walk away and gesturing for you to follow. You do. "Everything has gone according to plan. He sounds satisfied as he speaks, you notice. "I have arranged for you to take as long as you need off work in order to keep up the pretence of shock. When you wish to begin, give me a call."

You stop walking when you reach what you assume must be one of Saito's many cars. Yusuf slips into the driving seat and starts it up. Saito reaches out a hand, and you take it; that's when you realise Eames hasn't followed you out.

Your stomach starts to ache as Saito guides you into the car and you're numb the whole drive to your hotel. You feel like you're having a panic attack and you try your best to not let it show on the outside.

You take two months off work and you call Cobb once to let him know you're okay. You ask him not to visit, because you need some time to yourself. It's true of course, because you're a mess. You spend three weeks inside your apartment feeling ill; you barely eat and you barely sleep. Your skin itches whenever you think about Eames and the one time you question yourself as to why he didn't say goodbye to you, you vomit violently into your toilet and even when all the contents of your stomach are gone, you continue to heave and sob and cling to the rim like it's a lifeline.

You're not sure how much time you spend like this before you remember, half aware of your surroundings, of the piece of paper inside your jacket pocket. Numbly, you tear your wardrobe apart looking for that jacket and when you find it, you grip the paper like it's everything. Carefully you unfold it, and with wide, desperate eyes, you read the contents.

Sydney, Hyde Park Inn, 56.

You're not sure how long you sit reading it over and over again, before you drag yourself to your shower, shave and dress yourself. You hail a cab, and the only thing you have with you is your wallet and your passport. When you approach the check-in desk and ask for the next available flight to Sydney, you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

When the attendant tells you "Tonight, eleven o'clock," you let out breath and smile and you say, "I'll take it."

There's a name for this, you're sure. You can't remember and you don't care; all that matters is that everything will be all right.


End file.
